Chapter 48: Traumatic Incident Number 5

>I>"No matter how you name it, you are uniquely suited to carry my mantle. You're voice, your appearance, and your natural flair for the dramatic. It is only a matter of time."

Outwardly, Kurt appeared happy. Or at least he hoped he did. And in some ways, he was. He loved being able to go to mass regularly. And he enjoyed the time he spent with Father Dietrich and with Alexandra. The only problem was nighttime. He had nightmares all the time, not as bad or bizarre as the one where his skin was coming off, but enough that he woke up every time.

They were about what happened on the beach and more specifically who had come to visit him there. He was sure it was Azazel now and that Azazel had tried to convince him to come to hell. At least that's what he his dreams were about. But there was no way he could be sure. He just couldn't remember. And so one night he decided that it was time for his questions to be answered, not just about the beach, but all of them.

He had no problem sneaking out of the rectory after dark, it sometimes seemed to Kurt that he had been created first for stealth and that his abilities as a circus performer had been an afterthought. It was easier now that Father Dietrich had taken him to a doctor to get that horrible cast removed. He hadn't liked that saw the doctor had used one bit, but he was glad to be rid of it. It made climbing much easier and it was nice to be able to use his right hand again.

He went to the open stretch of field where the circus always camped when they visited Hamburg. Now it was vacant, just a flattened area with a few trees, the last of their fall leaves clinging to them. Kurt shivered; it was cold without a jacket. And despite his appearance, the soft blue fur that covered his body did nothing to keep him warm.

Kurt knelt down and pulled at the dried grass. The dead roots released easily from the soil and soon he had a sizable patch of bare earth. He smoothed this with the palms of his hands and stood. With the spade of his tail he carefully traced the lines of Azazel's sigil. When he finished a shiver that he wasn't sure was from the cold passed over his entire body. For so long people, those who didn't know him, had made so many incorrect assumptions about who he was and what he could do that now, now that he was actually living up to those expectations made him slightly queasy.

Kurt stood expectantly before the scratches in the earth before he realized that he was missing the key ingredient, his own blood. He had no knife and after a fruitless search for a sharp rock returned to the sigil and sank his teeth into the fleshy part of his palm beneath his thumb. This act too frightened him somewhat. Was this why his teeth were sharpened fangs rather than flat; so he could easily access his own blood to summon demons?

He closed his eyes and held his clenched fist out over Azazel's mark, feeling his blood falling to the ground in steady drops.

BAMF!

Azazel's arrival was so abrupt that Kurt wasn't prepared for it. He opened his eyes and backed away quickly, nearly tripping over his feet. At first, Azazel stared at him in utter shock, like he didn't know how it was possible. Then a smile slowly spread over his face. "At long last you learn to pick up the phone…in a manner of speaking. To what do I owe the honor?" Azazel asked.

"I have questions for you. Questions I need answered." Kurt demanded ignoring the expression of triumph on Azazel's face.

Azazel's posture changed and he gave a familiar sort of bored shrug. Kurt was surprised to realize that he had the exact same mannerism. "Name the first question then." Azazel said.

"You've never told me who my real mother is." Kurt said. "I wish to know. Who is she?"

"You're mother wasn't exactly the nurturing type. You're better off no knowing her. I don't know her name, nor what shape she keeps. Put her from your mind." Azazel said.

Kurt shook his head, his arms crossed over his chest.

Azazel sighed. "One day you may find a woman who looks at you through your eyes. Until that time, she will remain a mystery to both of us."

Kurt frowned. He was already tired of the way Azazel always responded in innuendo and riddles; how he had to fight for even the tiniest concrete fact. But even he could see he would never get anywhere with this one. He moved on.

"Why did you show up on the beach that day, but then refuse to help me?" Kurt asked.

"We'll be here all night with your questions" Azazel glanced at his watch. "Perhaps instead I simply tell you the whole story."

Kurt nodded and sat upon the crumbling stone fence.

"I feel comfortable leaving the manner of your birth out of it. I think you already know that side of the story quite well. And it is, as a matter of fact, inconsequential."

Kurt nodded. Agreeing that story should remain untold.

"And we've already been over the whole angels and demons thing so I don't have to go over that either right?"

Kurt nodded again.

"Okay, then. Let's start right in with the metaphysics shall we?

"You see, Demons, or angels depending on your preference, need minions on Earth. They do their bidding, keep watch on things. It is very strenuous to leave the metaphysical plane and come here unless you were actually born here. I had such high hopes for you, but I couldn't raise you, and I knew you're mother wouldn't bother, so I called out to the one person who I knew would."

"Margali?"

"Excellent. I swear I thought you were a complete buffoon when I met you, but you're shaping up quite well." Azazel seemed to be enjoying himself now, pacing back and forth before him like a minister in his pulpit. "The night before you were born I sent a message to Margali.

"I had no idea what form the message would take, but I knew she would hear me and that you would be picked up. And for the most part, things went exactly to plan."

"Why did you know she would hear you?" Kurt asked.

"Ah, finally you ask something truly consequential. Because Margali is bound to me and my kind by her blood, as is the rest of her family. You know of Margali's magic, her 'sorcery' as she calls it?"

"Yes."

"Well, magic that old hardly resembles the silly incantations and trickery that define the word today. Margali and her kin are part of a magical lineage that is so old that it is encoded into them at a genetic level. Her very existence is enough magic to keep certain forces in line."

"What forces? What are you talking about? Margali is a fortune teller."

"It's a nice ruse isn't it? Kind of like how you pretend to be an acrobat in a costume. She and her sisters are but stepping stones on a path of magic that has existed since before the history books." Azazel said.

"But what does that have to do with you? Or with me?" Kurt said.

Azazel smiled, circling around Kurt almost hungrily. "For those that speak, there must be those who hear. Margali and her kin are seers; they have heard the voices of the angels and spread their words for centuries. Without her family, I would be mute, as would all of my kind."

"So, you sent the message to Margali that I was coming, because you knew only she would hear?" Kurt said.

"Exactly. And come she did. She took a route never before traveled by your circus and arrived at the exact moment of your birth. All precisely to my plan." Azazel said.

Kurt was suddenly horrified. "Your plan?" He said.

"Exactly." Azazel smiled broadly.

"But, you lost track of me. When?"

Azazel suddenly looked serious. "Yes, I did. When you would have been in your eighth year I lost track of you, Margali, and Amanda. I thought you'd perished and I'd somehow missed it. After a while I stopped looking." Azazel smiled. "But then you kissed that girl and of course the next day you passed through my realm. You were once again marked in my sights. You seem to have a habit of disappearing."

"I was eight." Kurt repeated. The year he'd been baptized. Had that had something to do with it? What if he could be baptized again? Would he disappear a second time?

"Why is that so interesting to you?" Azazel said. "Is there something you know that would explain your disappearance?"

Kurt shook his head. "No idea." He said. Azazel didn't look convinced.

"So what is your plan for me anyway?" Kurt asked, suddenly understanding Azazel's the expression of surprise and triumph on Azazel's face. He'd had been baptized a second time, in a way, when Father Dietrich had administered last rites. But now he'd ruined it by letting Azazel know he was alive.

"I need a voice. The bloodline of the seers who once served my kind grows thin – the winding way that was a great road is now but a narrow path, ill-used and uncared for. If I'm going to have any influence at all, I need one of my own to speak for me. My other children are hardly suited for the task; ill formed and barely in control of their gifts. That leaves you.

"And we all know how much you love to hear yourself speak in front of an audience. I couldn't have planned it better myself." Azazel said.

Kurt backed up a step. "That's… that's not what I do." He said. "I entertain people."

"Call it what you will. No matter how you name it, you are uniquely suited to carry my mantle. You're voice, your appearance, and your natural flair for the dramatic. It is only a matter of time." Azazel said.

Kurt shook his head, still backing away. This was all wrong.

"I brought war and weapons to this Earth." Azazel continued. "I brought science and technology. All the things that the humans use to corrupt and pollute this planet of theirs was mine once. My gifts." Azazel took up a clod of earth and crushed it in his hand, letting the dirt run between his fingers. "I have more gifts, Kurt. These you will bring, as my son and servant.

"I came to collect you on the beach because it appeared to me that you would come willingly. You will come, whether it is willingly or not. I have been patient, but my patience will not last forever." Azazel said.

"Never." Kurt said. "I'm not who you think I am."

"Oh, yes. That silly book you carry around, and that man who lives up there on the hill. You think that makes you some how different?" Azazel said.

Kurt stiffened. It hadn't ever occurred to him that these conversations were between anyone but him and Azazel, or that Azazel had any real influence on anyone besides him.

"You leave him alone." He shouted.

Azazel looked up at the rectory, a single light shining from the upstairs window. "What's his name? Dietrich? Hans Dietrich? Should I be insulted that you call him 'father'? Perhaps it's time he learned who your real father is?"

"No!" Kurt screamed and without thinking, he leapt into the sigil he had drawn, scratching through it with his feet until it was nothing but churned up mud. He watched Azazel lose corporeal form and then fade completely. Kurt sank to his knees breathing hard, wondering exactly what had been set in motion and for how long he could hold it at bay.